We did the usual Melbourne-at-Christmas-time routine today on Christmas Eve: prepared food for Christmas day, went to pick up more food for Nana’s grandchildren’s gathering, went to the cemetery to remember Appa, Chris’s grandpa, and had an evening of food and Carols by Candlelight on TV at Nana’s. On the drive back to Chris’s parents’ after the night was over, I noticed a car in front of us with a license plate that began with “1ED.” I stared at it for a while and thought about Ed. Ed has actually crept up on this trip a few times — once in Sydney during my walk to the fish market, another time in Tassie while on the road, and now on the way back to Chris’s parents’ the night of Christmas Eve. I’ve noticed streets named after him. On the way to the Sydney fish market, I saw the back side of a man who resembled my brother, everything from the way he walked to the way he moved his arms.
Christmas time is generally a happy time for me because I love Christmas trees, decorations, carols, and food, but at the same time, it’s always a little agonizing and painful because I not only remember Ed and how he isn’t here, but I am reminded yet again of my own broken family and how unhappy they all are. Some people say that maybe if Ed were still here, I wouldn’t feel this way, but I know that isn’t true. If Ed were still here, I might even feel worse, knowing I was thousands of miles away from him during Christmas day, which would prevent him from having any of his own celebration, even with something as simple as just exchanging gifts together. It’s never the same when you send gifts and open them separately. There’s not that much joy in that, especially for someone like Ed. It would be unlikely I’d ever be in San Francisco for Christmas even if he were still here, as selfish as that sounds. I’d consider flying him somewhere I would be, but he’d likely resist and say he wouldn’t want to go. That was typical Ed — never wanted anything, even though he criticized me for the same thing. Ed never really wanted things; deep inside, I know he just wanted love, affection, and acceptance. It hurts to remember that he never really got any of those things from anyone, but it’s all in the past now. There’s nothing left to do.
He finds his way to me even though he isn’t here anymore. He’d be a hard person for me to forget even if I really wanted to. I hope that in his way of reaching me, whether it’s through my friend and her husband in a photo frame, through street signs, in dreams, and even via Australian license plates, that he is expressing he knew how much I loved him, and he’s acknowledging he loved me just as much and misses me… even though he chose to leave this life.